The Shadow of Death
by Cirdan
Summary: Warning: The story itself is not graphic, but it contains touchy subject matter. Maedhros gets castrated (literally, no romanticizing, no comfort sex), and Fingon saves him.


Standard disclaimer:  All the characters, locations, some quotes, and the initial conception of this world belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, whether it be from Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, or The History of Middle-earth Volumes I-XII.

**The Shadow of Death**

            Even in later years, Maedhros would never wholly remember the torment that he endured in Angband, for he was often worn and weary and scarcely able to think in his fevered state, and yet, at the same time, he would never forget even a second of that torment at the hands of Morgoth and his servants.

            The torture had begun simple enough.  Maedhros was imprisoned in the dark dungeons of Angband.  He was whipped, beaten, and burned.  The captain of Morgoth broke his bones and left gruesome cuts upon his fair flesh.  His servants used some kind of glue to peel the skin from his body.  They poured acid upon his face but left his eyes untouched so that he could see the foul faces of his tormentors.  They refused to feed him or give him water, and when they did at last feed him, the mud-soaked bread was poisoned so that he hurled violently--he who had been born in the Blessed Realm and had never known even a moment of illness!

            And yet, despite the abuse of his body, his spirit did not flee, did not break.

            He was given to another of Morgoth's captains when the first did not succeed in whatever it was that was intended.  This second allowed Maedhros to heal, understanding all too well that the pain would be all the more excruciating if it were better felt.  Still worse, this new tormentor was before a servant of Aule and had apparently nurtured a perverse attraction for Feanor in the dark.  It seemed to Maedhros that he was penetrated by every fell creature and foul tool in Angband, debased and humiliated by groping claws and ever-eager darkness.

            It would later be said that one so forced would reject bodily life and pass to the Halls of Mandos, but this was not so for Maedhros.

            Another was then set upon him and whispered tidings of the Noldor to Maedhros, of those who were dying upon the Grinding Ice because the Valar had refused to accept them back into their lands after the Kinslaying, of the desperate struggle of his brothers and their deaths in this foreign land.  Mercy, he promised between the rape and torture, if Maedhros would but submit to the authority of the Dark Lord.

            But Maedhros did not submit, and his spirit clung desperately to his battered body.

            This continued for years uncountable, and his tormentors were rotated regularly such that his mind and body could not become accustomed to their sadistic ways.  Yet he came to know them slowly.  There was Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, whose fire was like the fur of an animal that left his nether regions untouched so that Maedhros was scorched but not killed by his flames.  There was Sauron, the Abhorred, who sought to seduce with soft words and gentle caresses until he became infuriated by refusal.  There was Tevildo, Prince of Cats, who toyed with his prey before cornering him and piercing him with barbed weapon.  Fangli, Fukil, Thuringwethil, Dragluin, Orcobal, Gwerlum, and many besides...  

            And through the haze of pain, Maedhros memorized each of their ways and learned to know their perverse minds and methods.  If he was ever freed, he would have great use of this knowledge, and he would have his revenge.  Maedhros clung to this fanciful notion as he endured the unending night.

            Finally, Morgoth himself came, blackened and charred.  Maedhros smiled with bloodied mouth and broken teeth, for the Dark Lord had endured torment no less than him.  Most satisfying of all, as diminished as Maedhros was from his previous self, Morgoth was all the more so.  Though his throat was too dry to speak, Morgoth knew his mind and hated him for it.

            "Two years now you have stayed as a guest in Angband, and still you do not leave for the Halls of Mandos," Morgoth noted in hollow voice. (1)  Maedhros understood immediately: the Dark Lord was tempting him with reprieve from his torment, suggesting that death would be an easier route.

            "You seek to mar me as you marred Miriel, but I will not relent," Maedhros spoke in his mind.  "The strength that went forth into Feanaro has been passed to me.  Though you have my father's jewels, I have what you cannot attain: the Imperishable Flame."

            Morgoth spoke no words then.  His burning hands gripped Maedhros about the waist, and Morgoth's darkness pierced Maedhros and sought to defile his very spirit.  Maedhros opened his mouth in silent scream.  He felt a knifepoint trace up along his inner thigh and up over his hip.  The cut was shallow and thin, the pain sharp.  The cold, cruel metal moved languidly in fine patterns about his lower abdomen.  It flickered in a strong downward slash and dispossessed Maedhros of his inheritance.  Before Maedhros passed out, he heard the Morgoth laughing as he licked at the free-flowing blood.

            When Maedhros awakened, he found his naked form hanging upon bare rock for all to see his bereavement.

---

            Fingon coughed and readjusted the moist handkerchief about his nose and mouth.  The ashen vapours were becoming more unbearable as he went farther north.  He would have to turn back soon.  He had little food left now, just enough to return to Hithlum.  Tears stung in his eyes, not only because of the poisonous fumes but also because of his memories of his close friendship with Maedhros.  No, he could not turn back.  He had not at Araman; he would not do so now.

            Fingon struggled over this last steep stone face and found himself looking out upon a iron wall of mountains.  He had climbed high up onto the shoulders of Thangorodrim, but higher still were the peaks of Ered Engrin that fenced Morgoth's fortress around no less effectively than the raised tops of the Pelori that guarded Valinor.  His heart sank.  He could find no passage or crevice through which he might come within Morgoth's stronghold.

            "Russandol..." Fingon said with heavy heart and wept bitterly for his friend.

            The voice of Feanor came into his heart then, or perhaps it was the memory of the voice of Maedhros as he repeated his father's words, and said, "Amid weeping there is joy, and under the shadow of death there is light that endures." (2)

            Fingon raised his head and dried his tears.  His ancestors had endured far worse in their struggle to reach the Light of Aman, and he had not come back to Endor, the birthland of the Elves, to fall prey to the Morgoth's spell of despair.  He stood up anew and looked out at Angband.  He imagined his grandfather doing the same as he looked out across the Sea toward the Light at the end of the Great Journey with no apparent way of crossing the frightful waters.

            Then Fingon drew forth his harp and began to sing the song Finwe had composed upon the Shores of Endor:

"In western lands beneath the Trees  
the flowers may rise in Spring,  
the ferns may sway in pleasant breeze,  
the merry finches sing.  
Or there maybe fair cloudless skies  
and swaying beeches bear  
the Elven-stars as jewels rise  
amid the waters' hair.

Though here at journey's end we stand  
in darkness buried deep,  
beyond all oceans lies a land,  
beyond all mountains steep,  
beyond all shadows shines the Light  
and Stars for ever dwell:  
We will not stop 'til Trees we sight,  
nor bid the Stars farewell."

            Fingon then began his song again with "beyond all oceans lies a land," and heard above him, far and faint, a voice taking up his song.

            "Nelyafinwe!" Fingon cried out with sudden joy.

            "Findekano?" came the weak reply.

            Maedhros was close.  Fingon climbed to the foot of the precipice until he could go no further.  Now he clearly saw the band of steel about Maedhros's right wrist.  He shuddered not because of the cruel device but because of his friend's broken body.  Fingon tried desperately to find a way to reach his friend to free him, but there was no way to climb the sheer face of Thangorodrim.  Even his knives could not take hold in the hard rock.

            And then a dark thought crept into Fingon's mind.  If he could not free his friend, it occurred to him that he could at least spare him from further torment.  Maedhros hung above, silent and immobile.  Fingon had already bloodied his hands in the Kinslaying at Alqualonde.  And this would be a mercy killing.  If Maedhros had the strength, perhaps he would beg Fingon to do this very deed.  Or perhaps he had placed this very thought into Fingon's mind.

            Fingon strung an arrow, bent his bow, and took aim.  He paused to see if Maedhros would notice or protest, but Maedhros gave no sign of even being alive.  Fingon swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes.  Then he steadied his quaking arms and fast-beating heart and cried to Manwe, "O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!" (3)

            Maedhros stirred at the sound of Fingon's voice.  His eyes fluttered open and met his friend's, and the look in his eyes at that very moment was graven forever in Fingon's memory.

            Suddenly, they heard a majestic call piercing the thick silence of Angband.  From out of the darkness came Thorondor, King of Eagles.  He landed before Fingon and said, "Lord Manwe has sent me to aid you.  I will bring you to your friend."  He lowered his head and suffered himself to be ridden.

            Fingon's brow furrowed, and he averted his eyes from Maedhros's body and instead focused his attention on the chain about Maedhros's wrist.  Fingon wrapped his legs tightly about Thorondor, who did his best to bring Fingon close to the rock face, and tried to sever the steel bond.  Neither chain nor cuff nor rock would yield.  After several attempts, Fingon began to despair.  Each time, Thorondor circled to stretch his wings before bringing Fingon back to the face of the rock.  In that brief fraction of a breath when Thorodor paused midair, Fingon dripped water down to Maedhros to moisten his chaffed lips.  Some of the water spilt down his chin and dripped onto his bare chest.  There was no time for Fingon to even wipe that stray water before Thorondor was again forced to circle.

            And perhaps because Fingon was there, because Maedhros had been tormented now for so long and at last felt as if he could relax his guard, because he was on the verge of rescue but for the unbreakable chain, Maedhros began to weep, but so wrecked was his body that his sobs could not even yield one tear.

            "I do not know what happened after we parted, but even upon the Grinding Ice, I have never doubted that you had not forgotten me at the burning of the ships at Losgar," Fingon said.  "I will not leave you alone here even if I must myself become a captive of Morgoth."

            Maedhros shook his head.  "Never," he struggled to say.  "Whatever you imagine, it was worse."

            Maedhros's eyes flickered downward, and Fingon followed his gaze.  Fingon blanched and quickly averted his eyes.  He had not noticed before.  His body shuddered at the very idea of being bereft of his elfiness.  Maedhros looked meaningfully up at his bound wrist.  No, it probably couldn't be worse than that.

            There was no way for Thorondor to fly close enough to the face of the precipice for Fingon to move Maedhros onto the eagle.  He tightened his legs around Thorondor, drew his sword, and readied himself.  If he failed, Maedhros might well plunge to his death.  Thorondor's wings turned, and the air underneath them lifted him such that he hovered.  Fingon swept his upper body downward and grabbed hold of Maedhros by the left hand.  As he brought himself upright, he swung his sword mightily and severed Maedhros's right hand above the wrist.  Maedhros fell and almost took Fingon down with him, but Fingon held on tight to Maedhros and strained his legs to grip the eagle.  Slowly, as Thorondor broke away from the cliff face to bring them to Lake Mithrim, Fingon pulled himself upright again and then hauled Maedhros up as well.

            "Maitimo, you're free," Fingon said gently, as he staunched the wounded arm with his cloak.

            Maedhros's eyes gradually focused on Fingon's face.  Then, as if he'd finally heard, his eyes flickered to his right arm and found that there was no longer an iron band about his wrist.  He blinked twice then rolled his gaze downward.  Fingon quickly covered Maedhros's crotch with his hand.

            "You're still alive," Fingon said.  "That is enough."

            Fingon pull him into a fierce embrace to shield his bare body from the winds that rushed past as the eagle sped through the sky.  His embrace also made it impossible for Maedhros to look at himself.  Maedhros closed his eyes and sighed.  The bleeding from his severed hand bothered him less than the other matter.  After he'd had some mouthfuls of water, Maedhros settled closer to Fingon.

            "Alive, but no longer a man," Maedhros managed to mutter.

            "So long as you are alive!" Fingon insisted.  "You will have your revenge."

            Maedhros made no reply.  Fingon remembered the look in Maedhros's eyes at that moment before imminent death and found that he still could not read them.

---

            In time, Maedhros was healed, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart, and he was as one that returns from the dead. (4)

---

Notes:

(1) Two years of the Trees, about 50 years of the Sun that has not yet risen.

(2) Silmarillion, Ch. 19.

(3) Silmarillion, Ch. 13.

(4) Silmarillion, Chs. 13 and 18.


End file.
